Directly to the dump
OK, time out. I give. Uncle. The direct mail industry, so efficient and so thorough in filling my mailbox with ALL THIS STUFF on a daily basis has finally pounded me into numb indifference.
You stand back and look at the relentless onslaught of unwanted, unsolicited mail pouring into your life from people, groups and organizations that all want your attention and your money, and it’s a just bit wacky. Now, I know why so many worthy and worthwhile organizations have big direct-mail budgets. They work. Very simply, they get results. These various campaigns may not get a huge percentage of positive returns, but they get enough to where they’re worthwhile. I guess they do. Let’s put it this way; my mailbox wouldn’t runneth over if they didn’t pay off. But they do. I get it. I understand.
But I’ve given to enough organizations now that it seems as though I’m forever entrenched on some insanely thick mailing list labeled “Hey, This Guy Just Might Fork Out, So Give Him a Shot.” The resulting paperslide of come-ons spewing out of my box now mainly serves to depress me, as I can’t stop thinking about the great forests of this continent, slowly being shaved-off and then shipped to the landfills of America in the form of billions and billions of envelopes sent out in never-dwindling numbers, week after week, month after month, year after year.
So I’ve just gone “Tilt.” Like a pinball game that got jostled too hard and went dead. I’m done. For a while. I just don’t want to sit around for an hour every other day and open these envelopes, read their earnest messages and decide whether or not to help. I’m dried up. Burned out. An unfeeling, unthinking husk. A pod person who seemingly doesn’t have much connection with some unit named Deuce Bran Vyke.
The banks are the worst. Without a doubt. The effing banks and their effing credit cards. Fuck you, banks! Stop sending all the goddamn blank checks with which I can transfer my bloody balances to your bloodthirsty vaults, you minions of Mephisto, you lackeys of Lucifer, you ballboys of Beelzebub! Or how about you just send the blank checks once a month instead of three times a week. How’s that? Is that fair? Is that a reasonable compromise? Effing banks.
I don’t look forward to the Shit hitting the Fan. I think when that happens it’s really gonna be a hassle, and probably very very inconvenient. It’ll be a pain in the ass when the money is worth less than a four-pack of candles.
But I sure won’t miss the relentless stream of balance-transfer checks from the goddamned banks.